


A Little Self-Love (Goes a Long Way)

by zombiesam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Clone Sex, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean Winchester Learns Self-Love, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiesam/pseuds/zombiesam
Summary: In the back of his head, Dean is vaguely wondering if this counts as screwing another dude. He vaguely debates on whether or not he cares, but then Sort-Of Dean is biting his ear, and he suddenly doesn’t care at all.“Takes a whole new meaning to ‘go screw yourself’, huh?” Dean draws.Or, Gabriel gets tired of Dean's moping self-hatred and gives him a chance to love himself a little more.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 17





	A Little Self-Love (Goes a Long Way)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for Dean's birthday. Figured the guy needed a little happiness in his life. This was obviously self-indulgent, but I couldn't resist.

Dean Winchester is six feet, one inch of flannel, questionable digestive health, and lightning reflexes. And a whole lot of other things, too, of course. These are all things Dean is vaguely tossing about in his head as he gives the perfect clone of himself sitting on the edge of the motel bed a distrustful once-over.

Given the nature of his work, taking in the sight of himself in pure, perfect detail, isn’t the strangest thing to ever happen to him. In fact, he’s surprised it hasn’t happened sooner. A perfect replication in all his chiseled, bad-ass glory, if he does say so himself. Gabriel really doesn’t screw around with his eye for detail. 

Gabriel, who had gotten so sick of Dean’s “moping daddy-issues emo boy charade,” that Dean was sure the angel was going to send him into some kind of lesson-learning torture scheme. But, instead, Gabriel decided that “he’d take some pity on this poor little bipedal,” instead. It had scared Dean more than the idea of being sent into a year-long time loop if he was going to be perfectly honest with himself. But, before Dean could even begin to question Gabriel on his plans, the angel had disappeared from the room as quickly as he’d come.

Sam was out. Dean had been on his way to call his brother about Gabriel’s sudden appearance until the perfectly-replicated stature of  _ himself _ had appeared, sitting on the bed, looking very pleased with himself. 

Dean tried all the tricks. Silver, holy water, hell, even arsenic against his clone’s skin. Gabriel hadn’t been lying; it was really just  _ him. _ Though, Dean still had no idea how this was supposed to relate to the “lesson” Gabriel was hoping to teach him. Or what exactly the lesson even is in the first place.

“So you’re me, huh?” Dean asks. He leans against the far dresser stacked against the wall, arms folded, giving the clone a once-over. The “Other Dean” shrugs. The faint, lingering smirk across his features makes Dean frown.

“In the flesh,” the other responds with a shrug. “Sort of.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “And you’re not...you’re not Gabriel. Like, you’re not that weirdo in disguise. You’re just…”

“I’m just you,” the clone finishes. “Archangel projection thingy, of course. But not Gabriel himself. He made me because…”

“We hate each other,” Dean finishes. He feels his face burn, faintly, at the admission. 

The other nods with a slight wince. “Been each other’s own worst enemy since the day we were born. Kinda sucks, huh?”

Dean blows a sigh. “Look, if you’re here for some mumbo-jumbo psychotherapy session, I don’t wanna hear it. I’m really not in the mood.”

“Oh please,” Doppelganger Dean laughs. “You think Gabriel expects me to give you  _ therapy? _ You think  _ I’m _ gonna be the one to do that? Yeah. Nope.”

“Why are you here, then?” Dean prods. He pushes himself off from against the dresser to take a cautious step towards the other. He still doesn’t trust this. Not fully. Gabriel often had creative means of teaching him and Sam a lesson that involved Dean dying or some other ungodly series of events. 

Not Dean raises an eyebrow. He remains sitting on the bed, looking up at Dean with bright, curious eyes.

“Self-love,” he says simply. “That’s all I was told, anyway.”

Dean frowns. “Self-love? I thought this wasn’t therapy bullshit.”

“It’s not.”

“Then what the hell is this?!”

The other Dean pulls a face. “Look. I wasn’t told much, okay? He didn’t tell me anything except that...you should learn to open yourself up a little? Something along those lines? Learn to, ah, see the ‘exquisite beauty in that stupid little face of yours’ was how he said it before I was zapped here.”

Dean wipes a hand down his face. “He wants me to screw myself. That’s what this is. Isn’t it?”

Clone Dean shrugs. “Looks like it. I mean, hey, we know each other better than some random chick behind a bar. All those little spots no one seems to  _ quite _ know how to reach…”

“Shut up.” Dean flushes, turning away as his face burns. He’s right, Dean knows. He’d be lying to himself if it wasn’t something he’d thought about — in detail — before. All the little fantasies he was too embarrassed to bring up to any hook-ups, all the little spots he’s touched and stroked in ways that others couldn’t  _ fully _ get right. 

“Hey, s’not like we haven’t thought about it,” Almost-As-Attractive Dean points out, echoing Dean’s own thoughts. Of course, he would know. He’s  _ him. _

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I know. Look, Sam’s out, and I dunno when he’s gonna be back. You and I don’t wanna be banging when our brother walks in,” Dean points out. “Trust me.”

Sam has, unfortunately, walked in on Dean before. And vice versa. But this was...different. 

“Gabriel’s got that covered,” the other assures him with a wave of his hand.

“...Do I wanna ask what you mean by ‘covered?’”

Not-Exactly-Dean shrugs. Dean decides not to push. He watches Copy Dean stand up in front of the bed and take a small, careful step towards Dean himself. The wide grin never leaves his face as he regards Dean, making Dean huff a nervous laugh. They look at one another before the other reaches forward to straighten out Dean’s green flannel hanging loosely over his shoulders.

“Hey, we look pretty good,” Different Dean points out. Dean raises his eyebrows. He feels his heart stutter in his chest. It takes him a moment to find his voice.

“Always did have our daddy’s good looks,” Dean grunts. He looks down at Alternative Dean — at himself — before placing a hand over his chest. Regarding him. 

“Nah, we look better than our old man and we know it. Blessed by our good looks, right? God doesn’t give a shit about us, but damn if he did make us pretty.”

Dean breathes a laugh. He’s shaking his head, faintly, in the disbelief of it all; him, smirking at himself as Mirror Dean grabs Dean by the belt loops. Dean laughs and pushes him playfully, and Not Dean takes that as a welcome challenge. He surges forward and grabs Dean’s hips, pinning him down onto the bed with a low, quiet groan. His lips find the exposed skin of the hollow base of Dean’s throat — that small, expanse of skin that always made him giddy when someone put their mouth there just right — and begins to suck. Dean’s eyes roll back, his whole body singing with pleasure as he grabs his clone’s hips with a needy sigh. He’s not loud in bed — not really, not  _ usually, _ anyway — but God, this feels good. The clone is rocking his hips  _ just _ right, licking at his skin  _ just  _ how Dean likes it.

In the back of his head, Dean is vaguely wondering if this counts as screwing another dude. He vaguely debates on whether or not he cares, but then Sort-Of Dean is biting his ear, and he suddenly doesn’t care at all. 

“Takes a whole new meaning to ‘go screw yourself’, huh?” Dean draws. His clone groans. Sharp pain on his forehead makes Dean blink his eyes open.

“Wh —did you just thump my forehead?!”

“Yeah. I forgot how annoying we are in bed,” the other grumbles. Dean goes to argue, but nods in wary agreement, instead.

“True that. Hey, why’d you stop doing what you were doing? Keep going.”

Kind-Of-Dean frowns at him for a moment, regarding him almost curiously, before going back to the sensitive spot on Dean’s throat with a shrug. Dean’s head spins. He’d always wanted to take his time with himself. Part of him always hated to have to jerk off quickly, quietly so that Sam or his father wouldn’t hear. Five minutes in a lukewarm shower before a hunt, or hooking up with a girl for an hour before needing to hurry back to finish a job. He had never been able to  _ relax _ or take time to explore what he liked. Now...in a weird way...he could. 

“Shit, that’s good,” Dean groans softly. Hesitantly, Dean reaches a hand up to tug his hands through his clone’s hair, giving it a sharp pull that makes the other moan. Pain. They like a little pain. Oh, yes. Mr. Copycat lifts his head from Dean’s throat, leaving a wet mark against the skin, before giving Dean a very sinister grin. Dean has to bite back a squeak; of fear, anticipation, excitement, he isn’t sure. All three. Probably.

“You like this,” Parallel Dean points out.

“Obviously, yeah.” He’s breathing heavy, hard even without his dick having been touched. 

“S’pretty good,” the other murmurs. Dean glances down at the bulge forming in the clone’s pants. His head spins pleasantly. With careful fingers, Dean grabs his other self by the flannel and jerks him forward, pushing the fabric off his shoulders to leave the other in a black, faded t-shirt. His eyes travel over the corded muscles in his arms and shoulders, of the broadness of his shoulders and chest. Sure, Dean never hated the way he looked; he figured he looked good enough to get an eyeful from the mass of women he’d picked up over the years. But he’d be lying if he never got down on himself during his lowest days. That being good-looking was all he was ever good for. That he was just some whore with a pretty face, never able to live up to what he could be. To what he ‘should’ be.

His body, he realizes, has seen so much. It’s a testament to his inability to give up. He reaches a hand up, tracing fingers over the other’s clothed chest where he knows several scars lay against his skin.

“Are you gonna take it off me?” Almost Dean huffs. “Or are you just gonna sit there and drool over yourself some more?”

Dean gives him a half-hearted glare before pulling the shirt off his clone with a weak sigh. His eyes trace over the tattoo on his chest, the handprint Castiel left him. Gabriel really hadn’t missed a single detail. Carefully, Almost-As-Pretty Dean leans forward and kisses Dean full on the mouth with a soft moan against his lips. Dean freezes for just a second; kissing was intimate. Sometimes. Kissing…

Kissing feels  _ good _ , he reminds himself. He surges into the kiss, panting against his mouth before Not Quite Dean’s tongue slips past his lips. Softly. Enough to tease. Enough to make Dean wriggle where he’s half-sitting, half-laying on the bed. Dean grabs the other’s hair and shifts back, dragging him fully onto the bed with him. Sideways Dean straddles him, clawing at his shirt to pull it off, leaving them both bare from the waist up. Dean’s touching the other everywhere he can reach, and in turn, the clone is toying with the buds of his nipples, making him shamelessly arch against his exploring hands. Another embarrassing little spot he’d never dream of telling someone he actually liked; his nipples are ridiculously sensitive. And, of course, he would know this.

“We’ve never told anyone we liked to be touched like this,” Half Dean points out. He’s tugging at the buds on Dean’s chest with his fingers, making Dean  _ whimper _ . His mouth falls open, his hips twitch. But his clone has him in a firm hold.

“Nope,” Dean manages to gasp. “Makes us feel...feel like…”

“Feel like a girl?” he offers. Dean nods. 

“Shouldn’t really matter that much,” Dean groans. His voice is a pleasured, tortured wreck. He’s not sure how he’s even able to hold this conversation, let alone think critically about anything. “Not like we don’t g-got bigger shit to worry ab —  _ hnngg _ . Oh, shit.  _ Yes _ .”

Other Dean — Dean 2.0 — Clone Dean — Dean really can’t decide on a decent name for the guy — is sucking on one of the buds on Dean’s chest, ripping a groan from deep in his throat. Maybe it’s how gentle he’s being, or how he’s flicking out his tongue with every, little lick that’s sending white-hot sparks of pleasure straight to Dean’s groin. Maybe it’s the way he’s fulfilling a fantasy Dean frequently returned to when he’s jerking off in the shower. Maybe it’s the way he’s  _ biting _ at the bud, adding flashes of pain to the waves of pleasure that only amplify how good it feels. Whatever it is, Dean is letting out a giddy laugh with each lick as he strains, almost painfully, against his jeans.

This is good. This is very, very good. Might-ruin-sex-with-strangers good. Might-ruin-most-porn good. And the clone still hasn’t touched his dick. So, Dean takes the liberty to touch his first.

He hasn’t exactly touched another guy’s dick before. Not that this counts as another guy. Rather, Dean hasn’t touched a dick in which he can feel said touch with his own hand. But it isn’t like he doesn’t know what to do. He cups his clone’s crotch, rubbing his palm over the bulge exactly the way he knows that he likes it. The clone whimpers and rolls his hips against Dean’s hand, making Dean grin as the clone lifts his head to look at him. Dean jerks Dean 2’s pants down past his hips, glancing down at his groin with a raise of his eyebrows.

“We, uh, I guess we pack alright?” Dean suggests lightly. He still can’t stop staring at the other’s dick — as though he hasn’t seen it his whole damn life.

Maybe Dean glances down with a shrug, arms braced on either side of Dean’s shoulders.

“Heh, yeah. Not bad.”

Dean can’t help but agree. He’s not so sure if he wants another guy’s dick — even his own — in his ass quite yet. By virtue of being  _ himself _ , he’s sure the other feels the same. But, that doesn’t stop him from wrapping a hand around Dean Squared’s dick and giving him a long, hard stroke. The other trembles, a breathy groan pouring past his lips as he jerks his hips into Dean’s hand. This goes on for several, long moments — both of them silent, breathing heavy, with flushed, hazy faces. Double Dean fucking himself into Dean’s eager hand. Quiet, happy moans shared between the two of them when Dean decides to swipe his thumb over the other’s leaking, swollen head, and prod at the slit with his thumb. He’s about to spill. Dean can feel it. But the other pulls away just before he does.

“Wait,” the other rasps. “In your mouth. Sound good?”

Dean’s eyes blow wide, but he nods eagerly. He doesn’t have to be told twice; he leans back, opens his mouth, and greedily begins sucking at his own dick when it pushes past his lips. He closes his eyes, savoring the taste of himself, remembering the times he wished he  _ could _ suck his own dick. Maybe this isn’t exactly the same, but  _ damn _ if it’s not close enough. It doesn’t take long; Twin Dean spills into his mouth, causing Dean to yelp in surprise and spit out the cum onto the bed as the other groans in blissful pleasure. He grabs at Dean’s hair affectionately, laughing under his breath as he sits down on the bed in between Dean’s legs.

“Still got it,” Dean breathes. The other seems to agree. 

“We’re good at this,” Sorta Dean breathes. “Hell, we’re good at a lot of shit. But we’re really good at this.”

Dean is inclined to agree. He’d typically describe himself as a ‘ _ chronic screw-up running on whiskey fumes _ ’ most days. But now, in the hazy bliss of some of the best sex he’s ever had in his life (even when his own body’s dick still hasn’t been touched) he’d agree willingly to nearly anything. The other spreads his legs before gently taking his thighs and pushing them back, adequately folding Dean in half. Dean closes his eyes, feeling jittery, excited nerves pulse through his body as Not Dean leans down and licks a long, wet trail deep inside of him.

He’s shamelessly begging, now. Never, ever in his life would he ask a single soul to do this to him, and it feels too good for him to care. Soft, quiet pleas and moans slip past his tongue as the other aggressively licks and prods deep inside his core with his tongue. Dean writhes on the bed, grasping at the other’s hair with eager fingers, pulling him deeper. God, he knows just how to do it; just how to lick him, just how to send aching rushes of pleasure straight through every nerve in Dean’s body. It makes him spin. It makes him soar and sink into a bottomless pool of want and need.

Hard fingers replace the tongue, curling up inside him, digging just against his prostate, making him an aching, reeling mess. A warm, hot mouth — his own mouth, his own wet tongue — finds his aching cock, straining between his legs. And the mouth takes no qualms exploring him, either. It licks and sucks and even murmurs filthy praise between his thighs. And Dean doesn’t last long, not at all; he spills with a tight arch of his back, a short curse that ends in a blissful sigh.

“Holy shit,” Dean says when he’s finally, finally capable of coherent thought again. The other lays beside him. Not touching, they don’t really want that. Never have been cuddlers. They simply stare at the ceiling in post-sex bliss. Ringing ears, sensitive skin. Marks on Dean’s throat that he’d have to hide from Sam.

“Sure as hell needed that,” Proxy Dean breathes. Dean can only nod in hazy agreement. He throws an arm across his face, hiding a laugh.

“Guess Gabriel doesn’t suck as bad as I thought he did,” Dean laughs weakly. “Damn. That was good. That was amazing.” He glances at the other, unable to keep the grin from his face.

“Not really sure how this was supposed to make me “love myself” more or whatever,” Dean grumbles. He pulls on his flannel, leaving the rest of himself bare. He’d dress soon — just not yet.

“Gabriel is a very literal angel,” the clone reminds him with a smirk. “I’d say we loved ourselves pretty damn hard today. Maybe we can do this even when we aren’t screwing our own brains out.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, keep dreaming…”

The other shrugs. 

“Welp, duty calls. I’ll be seeing you. Maybe. Maybe not.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Get outta here already.”

They grin at one another before the other disappears, leaving no trace of himself behind. Dazed, Dean shrugs on his pants and shirt, glancing at the door with a shake of his head. He has a feeling Gabriel just wanted a new porn flick to add to his collection. But, either way, Dean feels like he’s walking with a newfound spring in his step as he goes to wash off his face. That had been good. That had been what he needed - for now, anyway. He’s smiling the entire time he splashes water on his face, feeling giddy and light.

_ Still got it.  _

Maybe that feathery, archangel bastard isn’t so bad after all. 

Soon, Sam finally returns to the motel, dripping wet with at least twenty raccoons and five squirrels sitting curiously at his feet. Sam is weakly demanding  _ why _ Gabriel insisted on sending every small mammal in a twelve-mile radius on his tail to keep him away from the motel while Dean “sorted shit out.” As Dean brushes his teeth, he looks down at the creatures then up at Sam with a confused shrug, hiding a pleased smile behind his toothbrush.


End file.
